Trick, Treat, Bittersweet.

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photo: djdawson 2016

  • Two job screenings via telephone this morning (and well done, I might add.) One resulting in an interview tomorrow; the other, a “…we should know by Wednesday – please wait to hear from me.”
  • Ambient sounds playlist for Trunk or Treat: mixed, downloaded, ready. (I love Spotify.)
  • Plotting picnic supper for this evening while contemplating garment concoctions for a ‘fortune teller’ costume; other than the requisite oddball jewelry, abundant necklaces and tasseled scarf…smokey eye, anyone? Stained teeth? Fingerless gloves? The costume boxes are literally buried somewhere in the storage unit. This is improvising at its best.

It feels a bittersweet, alone this morning; years past we would wake and play Thriller over the stereo (so loudly the house shook), and dance or goof off until it was time to dress for school and work.  It is a blessing and a curse to feel so deeply; to instantly transport then linger in a place that does not exist any more.  Like every Halloween we shared since 2002 or 2003 (and before, of course)…how we plotted in summer for the perfect costume for her adventures in candy-gathering.  This morning, I remembered a conversation she and I had when she was about 6.

“I know you are a witch, mama.  I am a little witch, too – I know I have special powers, like you.”

I buttoned my immediate urge to congratulate her, counting to five to give space to her words; give her time to take them back.

“There is a good chance you are a witch.  So, if you believe you are, then you are.  Good for you!”  She was pleased and comfortable with this information; her grin was deep and knowing.  That was many years ago.  I hope she remembers she still has magic in her now, at 18, away from me and making decisions on her own.  I also hope she knows I am always here, like a shadow, waiting, in case she ever needs me.  Some days, I would like to be sewn to her heel, like Peter Pan’s shadow, so it never got lost.  Impractical, and some would say unhealthy.  I say both.

From the old stuff, comes the new stuff.  Everything eventually turns new, doesn’t it? This year renewed and so shall I; as the fields and vines dim and brown, turning earthward to winter. I shall do the same: hibernate and contemplate the year’s changes – expansions and relative shifts – and nest among the dried hay and grasses of what we did once before and how all that was once green was spent and cast to nourish the seeds of next season.

Later this evening, when we are finally home and have unburdened ourselves of candy and well-wishing, I will light ritual candles on the back deck, and pray.  When I lived alone, ritual and altar were personal and very private, unshared.  My housemates will understand this and, if not, might be a bit unnerved.  So be it.

East, South, West, North – walk the circle clockwise with index finger or wand, see the dazzling blue sphere of the Circle and close it.  Sit at the northwest corner of the circle, facing across the candles.  Invite, speak with the ancients, give thanks, break bread and share wine, give more thanks, then release the circle, exiting counterclockwise until they have visited and I have understood why.  Listening, one gleans more than asking questions, especially during ritual.

Listen this evening…and, have fun.

ox

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